Film Review: Putty Hill

Filmmaker Matt Porterfield explores the lives of Baltimore's lower-working class neighborhoods in his latest feature, Putty Hill

When it comes to cinematic portraits of Baltimore, the two major choices available are John Waters’ cavalcade of sexually transgressive misfits or down and out masterpiece of drug trafficking and corrupt government, David Simon’s and Ed Burns’ The Wire. Filmmaker Matt Porterfield though has skillfully begun forging a third path, one that is as emotionally raw as The Wire but refusing to engage on that masterful show’s consciously epic level. Porterfield, a native Baltimore citizen, first began his cinematic journey with Hamilton, which critic Richard Brody referred to in 2006 as “one of the most original, moving, and accomplished American independent films in years.”

Five years later, Porterfield has followed up that initial success with a new work set in the same milieu, Baltimore’s surrounding, lower-working class neighborhoods, Putty Hill (released courtesy of The Cinema Guild in New York and now Los Angeles). Carefully straddling the line between reality and fantasy, the film could easily be referred to as a fictional documentary in that all the performers, save for one, are playing thinly-veiled versions of themselves within the very community they live within. The story concerns the death of a local guy named Cory, due to a drug overdose. Known by name and reputation within the community to a certain extent, a myriad of characters gather together at a local karaoke bar to examine his life and pay their respects.

Utilizing a series of loosely connected episodes, Porterfield covers the lead up to this meeting as he drifts from one disenfranchised youth to another looking for answers, at times even asking direct questions off-screen in a frank, cool tone. Whether it’s Cory’s brother, who breaks the news of his brother’s death after a paintball game or a former prison friend turned tattoo artist (imprisoned for murdering his pregnant wife’s rapist), or various other neighbors and former classmates, each one offering up a piece of their memories regarding the victim. Yet, despite everything they share, Porterfield shows the audience that these so-called friends and neighbors understood him less than they imagine. Other characters come into view such as Zoe (Zoe Vance), a teenage girl returning to Baltimore from out of state to pay her respects; a girl who cannot wait to escape back to the new home and opportunities it provides despite still caring for her friends left behind.

At a rundown skate park, there is Cody, (Cody Ray), another former classmate who describes the local skateboarding and punk scene, encapsulating it by musing on how everyone around feeds off one another’s energy and creativity; an oasis of pleasure within a scarred, industrial landscape everyone is surrounded by. The one star, if she can referred to as such, is musical performer Sky Ferreira’s turn as Jenny. The daughter of Cory’s prison buddy Spike, Jenny returns home as well to pay her respects but must contend with her father’s abandonment and resentment towards him. Like Zoe, all she wants is to desperately escape the dead end existence everyone else around her is stuck within and that Cory finally escaped tragically. While it would be easy to slap an overt political or sociological message upon the film, Porterfield is not tub thumping any particular agenda.

Taking into account the troubled, socioeconomic conditions his characters are weighed down with, the director chooses instead to concentrate on their determination to survive and thrive within the harsh conditions Baltimore’s ignored working class are mired within. The film, shot on a microbudget over twelve days, eschews tight structure for a looser, more improvisational flow that imparts an intimacy without sacrificing energy. Enough dramatic conflict naturally erupts to sustain one’s interest, while the lives and faces of these people emote far better than most trained actors on-screen today. Sensitive and honest without stooping to sentimentality, Putty Hill is a snapshot of a world all too familiar in real life but essentially forgotten on the big screen.

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